


alone.

by halcyondreams



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Guilt, M/M, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyondreams/pseuds/halcyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alvin was, once again, alone. It always ended up like this, he didn't know why he was surprised when it came to this conclusion. (Spoilers for those who haven't gotten to Chapter 4 in the game yet!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	alone.

**Author's Note:**

> i just really wanted to write a xillia fic, and this just came out i'm sorry but i'm not really
> 
> this takes place after the alvin boss fight in chapter four, and it's following the events if you won the match. i recommend watching that before you read this.

He felt like he was drunk.

Staggering through the forest, Alvin was honestly surprised that he was able to get far away from Jude before he ended up collapsing. He was also quite surprised that the house he ended up in was empty, but that was just his luck.

Alone with his thoughts.

The bed creaked as he sat on it, reaching his hand up to touch his cheek lightly – it still hurt, blossoming a tomato-red across his face with faint tinge of discoloration to it. Alvin never would have imagined that he would have ended up on the other side of Jude’s fists in such a vicious fashion. Actually, that was a lie. He knew it was coming, from the moment he joined their party, but he tried to convince himself that he was wrong, that he would be able to do what he needed and not have to end up in Jude’s hands.

Boy, was he wrong.

The black-haired boy swam through his thoughts. Why couldn’t he get him out of his head? He shrugged his brown jacket off and tossed it across the room, pulling the scarf out from around his neck and chucking it over to where he his jacket had landed.

He didn’t want it to come to this.

Alvin would have much preferred if he didn’t have to decide between killing Jude and going home. He would have been really quite content if he could have just been left the hell alone. But no. He was a mercenary, and this was his job.

Why couldn’t he do it?

Because Jude was stronger. It was as if Jude was atop him once more; he could even remember the way his body felt as he hailed fists upon him, the way he shifted and writhed atop his torso.

The pants followed his jacket, and the black boxers he was wearing did nothing to hide the reaction he was having to the memory. How could they? It didn’t matter, they were at his ankles in the next moment, with his white shirt fluttering off to the side somewhere.

He could remember how it felt when the punches ended, with Jude yelling at him, screaming. Jude had come so far. Where had he himself gone? He felt like he hadn’t progressed at all; he felt like he was worse than he had ever been.

Alvin held his right hand out, looking at it for a moment before spitting in it, using that rough, callused hand to spread the liquid along his shaft, serving as makeshift lube. His breath hitched for a moment as he began to run his hand along the extent of his length, eyes drifting shut.

And he was there. Wasn’t Jude always, when he had his pants down? He was always in his mind, no matter what he tried to focus on. He could remember the feel of Jude’s face mere inches away from him, yelling at him, that hot breath pelting into his face. If he had wanted, he probably could have leaned across that small bit of space between the two of them and claimed his lips – but he wasn’t worth even that little of Jude. He wasn’t worth anything Jude had to offer.

Another hitch in his breathing. His length was fully erect, his hand moving at a faster pace than he remembered. Jude had been so close to sitting in his lap, holding him up when Alvin would have easily just fallen back down on the floor. Wasn’t that always what Jude did though? He was always there to support him, either happily or grudgingly, the latter happening with more frequency as they reached the end of their journey.

He reached up and dusted his fingers along the forming bruise on his cheekbone – and pressed down, letting out a soft sound as his eyes closed a bit tighter. He deserved this. He deserved to have Jude beat the shit out of him, the boy who had shown him everything he could have been and everything that he could be.

But Alvin didn’t deserve any of it.

His breathing quickened, as well as his fingers along the hardened shaft. He started to groan softly, his left hand falling from his cheek onto the creaking bed, the springs making almost as much noise as Alvin himself with each pump of his fist.

Jude was always there when Alvin needed him, and the one time that Jude needed him, Alvin had turned around and tried to kill him. Good ol’ Alvin, always can be relied on to fuck things up royally. Always can be relied on to prove himself unreliable in the end.

It was one line that ended up bringing Alvin to climax – one line, omitted from what Jude told him in that clearing, yet the one line he wanted to hear the most, and the least at the same time.

“ _I hate you._ ”

With that, his white seed sprayed onto the floor with a sharp moan, Alvin’s hips bucking upwards slightly before settling back down on the squeaky bed. His left arm finally gave out on him, sending the rest of his body onto the mattress.

His body began to shake. It was quiet at first, but then a sharp sob cut through the silence. He was alone. He didn’t need to hide it. He didn’t need to hide his emotions. He never was good at it anyway.

Those crystalline tears slipped past his discolored cheeks, falling to the mattress and darkening the fabric. Another louder sob came from Alvin’s form, the tears flowing a bit more freely now.

He was disgusting. Absolutely and horribly disgusting, in all forms of the word.

He was alone again. There was no one coming to his rescue, there was no one to fall back on, there was nothing. He couldn’t go back to Elympios with Muzét’s help, and god knows he couldn’t get there alone.

Alvin let out a sniffle, the sobbing subsiding for now – but cheeks still moistened with fresh tears, still flowing.

He couldn’t be alone.

He was afraid of being alone.

Why did he have to be alone?


End file.
